


Wedding Reception In Vegas

by moon_custafer



Category: The Hidden (1987), Twin Peaks
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Post-Canon, is actually found family, looks like nuclear family, questions of identity, was just going to be fluff but plot happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_custafer/pseuds/moon_custafer
Summary: Janey-E and Dougie Jones meet Detective (retired) Tom Beck and family. This could get awkward.
Relationships: Douglas "Dougie" Jones/Jane "Janey-E" Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since that extremely atypical week the year before, Bushnell Mullins has placed a lot of confidence in Dougie. He’s practically Lucky Seven’s vice-president-in-waiting now, or so Janey-E occasionally permits herself to believe — especially since three months ago when the “save the date” notice came, followed six weeks later by the engraved invitation to Mullins’ daughter’s wedding.

Three months to shop for an appropriate outfit, to get a babysitter for Sonny Jim, to get her hair and nails done, and to get a second babysitter after the first one texted to say she’d been diagnosed with mono— but now here they are at the most tasteful, not to say the _only_ tasteful wedding ever hosted at the Silver Mustang Casino— Dougie in his usual black suit and still the handsomest man in the room; Janey-E in a cocktail dress with a square-necked satin bodice and a pleated tulle skirt. People make fun of sea foam green as the color you force your bridesmaids to wear so they won’t outshine you; but she’s always liked it. It reminds her of swimming pools.

The brides shake Janey-E’s hand warmly, though she’s only met Mullins’ daughter Kelly once, at a Christmas party, and Juliet not at all. The former is a sweet-faced woman in a silver-grey gown, her salt-and-pepper hair in loose waves. Her wife is slightly taller, with an ash-blonde bob and a plum-coloured velvet suit.

Juliet’s eyes fall on Dougie as he offers her his hand, and Janey-E sees them widen slightly in surprise, but there are more people waiting to offer the newlyweds their congratulations, and Juliet gathers herself, thanks Dougie, and the line moves on, only for Janey-E to note a similar flash of surprise in Juliet's parents.

* * *

“Of course I’d never tell Kelly what to do, even if she’d stand for it,” Mullins says when Janey-E comments on the striking floral displays at the reception— black tulips and pink orchids, and carnations dyed a sharp neon-green that shouldn’t work but does. “But she knows I’ve dreamt ever since she was a little girl about throwing her a big wedding when the time came. Even if for a long time it didn’t look like the time was going to come. When she and Juliet told me, they said ‘Dad, the only condition is there’s got to be a vegan option on the menu, what with Juliet and her friends and family being from California.’ Mind you I’m not sure myself what some of this food even _is_.” He glances at Dougie, who’s examining a translucent, flower-shaped hours-d’oeuvre with an expression that alarms Janey-E until he looks up with a smile. _It’s just curiosity_. Relief floods her. _Curiosity, not confusion._

Dougie pops the object into his mouth and his eyes widen as he chews and swallows.

“Jello,” he states, once his mouth is empty again.

“Well that’s a relief,” says Bushnell.

“What flavor Jello?” Janey asks, and Dougie frowns in thought.

“Seaweed?” he suggests. His wife laughs and takes his arm.

* * *

Some FBI agents had come to the house, not long after Dougie’s return. They’d spoken with him alone, and then they’d spoken to Janey-E. Something about _deep cover_ and _protection of a former operative_ and _non-disclosure agreements_ ; she’d done her best to pay attention, because no doubt this all explained a lot; but her thoughts kept drifting to how sad the three agents looked. They had professional-grade training at hiding their feelings, but you could still see it, a little, in their eyes. They told her a stipend would come monthly, under the name of another organization of course. 

“I guess we still have to declare it to the IRS?” she’d asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“NATURALLY,” said the oldest agent. He began a sort of one-sided shrug, then stopped himself, instead taking her hand and squeezing it: “Mrs. Jones,” he said, lowering his voice, “your husband is a brave and valiant man, in ways that can be acknowledged to only a few, and never, ever explained to anybody.”

* * *

As the evening draws on, Janey-E finds herself chatting with the mother of the other bride, Mrs. ...Beck? Yes, that’s the name. Barbara Beck. She looks like an older version of her daughter, with snow-white hair in a sleek crop. She’s eyeing Dougie with something of the same expression as her daughter, too, and Janey-E’s starting to work on how to politely but firmly call her on it, when the older woman throws her an apologetic smile:

“Sorry if it looks like I’m ogling your husband, honey, it’s just— he reminded me of someone and I finally remembered: a colleague of Tom's, years ago. No longer with us, I’m afraid. Is Dougie— is he from... up north? Lloyd was, he mentioned the name of the place once when he was over to dinner.” She frowns. “Can’t recall the place name now, must be old age. It was sort of unusual-sounding—”

Janey-E shakes her head:

“Dougie’s always lived here in Vegas.” She’s unsure if that’s the truth— no, she’s pretty sure that’s _not_ the truth, but it’s the official version. Barbara is twiddling the stem of her wine glass:

“Seattle!” She suddenly looks sad. “I.. he was an FBI agent, in LA on a case, and he ended up losing his life... in the line of duty, I suppose you could say. Tom nearly died too. Took him months to recover— I’m sorry, bringing up all this gloom on a happy occasion. Anyway I guess that’s why poor Lloyd made such an impression in my memory even though I only met him once.”

“Tom is an agent?” Dougie, suddenly back from the buffet with a plate in each hand, looks over Janey-E’s shoulder.

“He was a detective with the LAPD before he retired,” says Barbara. “I was just telling your wife how much you reminded me of an FBI colleague of his.” Dougie beams at her:

“FBI?”

Janey-E’s chest tightens.

“You’ll have to forgive Dougie,” she says. “He watches a lot of movies, cop shows, that kind of thing. We don’t want to pester either of you for shop talk.” Damn, now she can see Tom Beck across the room: a tall, tanned man with curling silver hair and large dark eyes. If he recognizes Dougie too, her husband’s cover will be blown to hell... if it isn’t already.


	2. Chapter 2

_Becoming Tom had been easier than becoming Gallagher. Since he could read minds, he had access to a wealth of facts about Tom, besides what he’d seen for himself in the brief time he’d known his friend; and the period of adjustment was easily explained as the recovery from the gunshot wounds that— that had—_

_He knew, of course, that what he was really becoming was the image that others had of Tom, but it would do. It would have to do._

_Juliet had sensed her father wasn’t the same person behind his face, but she’d understood the situation, insofar as any human could, and had accepted it better than he could have hoped. From the moment she’d smiled back at him he’d loved her as his own daughter._

_Being Barbara’s husband hadn’t been as easy, not at first. The grief for his own partner and family bloomed once he no longer had the pursuit of their killer to keep it in stasis; and Barbara had the intelligence to notice when he gazed into the distance a little too long, or was puzzled by some commonplace Earth custom. In the end it was that intelligence Tom came to love, the way her mind picked up thoughts by observation of the physical world rather than by the direct reading of people. She was quick, too, to cover for his social missteps, with a wry but good-natured sense of humor quite unlike anything he’d encountered elsewhere in the galaxy._

* * *

The being that’s been living as Tom Beck for the past three decades smiles and shakes hands with a roomful of people who’ve come to celebrate his daughter’s marriage to the woman she’s loved for seventeen years. It still puzzles him it took so long for this to be allowed, but human law can be slow to catch up to humanity.

Beside him he feels Barbara’s mind experience a moment of surprised recognition, and at the same time, he feels a stronger sense of shock from Juliet. Turning his head and leaning forward to look around a large spray of flowers and leaves, he sees an angular blonde woman in a pale green dress; and a man in his fifties, trim in a dark suit, with silver spreading through his sleek black hair, and his face an older version of the one Tom used to wear before he became Tom. The man appears cheerfully unaware of the confusion he’s now set off in three people.

Tom exchanges glances with Barbara, who after all these decades can nearly read his mind, and thoughts with Juliet, who actually can:

 _Did the original Gallagher— I mean Stone— have a brother?_ she wonders.

 _I don’t know._ Stone’s body had been returned to his family, who’d had it cremated and scattered the ashes in Olympic National Forest. There’s no way he can be alive and a guest at this wedding.

The line keeps moving and now the man is shaking Tom’s hand, his eyes full of friendly interest and absolutely no sign of recognition:

“Best wishes to the happy couple and their families,” the guest says as the detective gently probes his thoughts and the mystery deepens: the physical senses of Tom’s body tell him he’s hearing and looking at a warm and breathing human, but the mind he reads is an echo, a reflection. The next guests in the line are smiling impatiently and the blonde woman takes the strange man’s hand:

“Moving right along,” she says with a sideways glance at her spouse. Tom can feel her concern and embarrassment: _Dougie doesn’t space so out so often as he used to_ , she’s thinking, but still she worries _the past year has been a dream_ and _one_ _morning she’s going to wake up next to Confused Dougie, or worse, an empty bed and Irresponsible Dougie off gambling and sleeping around again._

“Interesting,” Tom murmurs, and neither Barbara nor Juliet need telepathy to know he’s going to investigate further at the wedding reception.

* * *

“Champagne?”

Even in Tom’s body, he’s never got over his first unpleasant experience of alcohol, but telling strangers he doesn’t drink often leads to hearing their confidential tales of addiction, which feels like deceiving them, and he doesn’t want to add any more deceptions into his life; so he accepts the flute of bubbles and carries it with him, clinking glasses with anyone who approaches.

Not for the first time today, he’s relieved to be on the visiting team at this wedding — while Kelly’s father has to stop at every turn to greet friends of the Bushnell family, Tom’s able to discreetly follow the man in the black suit to the buffet and back to a table where Barbara’s clearly already conducting her own investigation. She pats the blonde woman’s hand as she smiles up at Dougie, and introductions are progressing when Dougie’s wife spots Tom.

Tom sees her mouth tense and her eyes narrow, only for a moment. And then she falls into the least believable faint he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we never find out “Agent Gallagher’s” real name in the movie, I’ve decided to refer to him by Tom Beck’s name, since he’s been living in the identity of his late human friend and colleague for nearly thirty-five years at this point.
> 
> Though we only hear Dougie 2.0 say “Home” when he greets Janey-E and Sonny, he’s presumably as verbal as Coop with his memory back. I hedged my bets a bit by not giving him much dialogue in Chapter 1, but he’ll likely be a bit chattier from here on out.


	3. Chapter 3

It was rather like the trust game she and Diane used to play in school, thinks Janey-E as she lets herself drop. Instinctively she braces herself for the floor, but Dougie has sprung into action and already has a steadying arm around her. She risks opening her eyes a little, just enough to peer through her lashes, and sees him give her a puzzled frown before he turns his head and says to a passing server:

“Sorry to interrupt you in the course of your duties, miss, ma'am or mx., but my wife’s just had a turn. Is there someplace quiet I can take her? We’ll catch up with you later,” he adds, presumably to Barbara, but Janey-E doesn’t dare open her eyes any further to check.

She feels Dougie pick her up bodily and, though still feigning unconsciousness, she thrills at how easily he can lift her. He cradles her so her head rests on his left shoulder, and as they follow the waitress, she takes another peep at their surroundings. He’s carrying her down a carpeted hallway, guided by the server. The Becks have evidently obeyed his implied request for privacy and remained in the party room. Janey-E lowers her lashes again and a few seconds later feels Dougie make a right-turn into a room where elevator-style music is playing at low volume. He sets her down on an upholstered surface as the server murmurs something about a glass of water.

A few more seconds pass.

“Janey-E,” Dougie whispers, “not that I mind having you all to myself for a few minutes, but what on Earth are you up to?”

“They recognized you.” Janey-E opens her eyes. She’s lying on one end of a candy-pink sectional sofa in a small lounge decorated in varying shades of the same hue.

“Who did?”

“The Becks. The father’s an LAPD detective who once worked with an FBI agent who looked like you.”

* * *

The two of them never discuss Dougie’s past, or the odd changes in his manner and appearance that took place a year ago. Only just the one time—

He’d come down from putting Sonny Jim to bed; Janey-E was curled up on the sofa and Dougie had pulled the ottoman across the room and sat down on it, angled so his face looked directly into hers:

“I know the agents who came by today couldn’t give you a very satisfactory explanation of—” he hesitated: “the events of the past weeks. And other events that led up to them.”

“They told me everything will be all right now, though? We’ll be safe?”

”Janey-E, I will always do everything in my power to keep the two of you safe.” She’d nodded, remembering how fast he’d moved to disarm that awful man who’d pulled a gun on them right in public with dozens of witnesses nearby.

”I know. And I won’t stick my nose into classified government matters, but if you need me to do anything—” Dougie had raised one hand like he was stopping traffic, then dropped it:

“All I need from you is a clean slate.” He’d taken her hands and kissed them, and then he’d lifted his head to look at her: “I’m full of secrets," he said sadly. "But I’m a new man now, and it’s entirely because of you and Sonny Jim. And I promise to do my best to live up to what you’ve given me.” 

He’d kept his word, body and soul and marriage all reconstituted and so bright and shiny and so strong. But there’s never really a clean slate, not in the world as it is. 

* * *

Once again she’s curled up on a couch, with Dougie seated and looking her in the face. This time, there is no worry on his features, only puzzlement:

“I don’t know where the Becks think they recognize me from," he assures her, "but I’ve never met either of them before, in Los Angeles or elsewhere.”

“So I faked a fainting episode for nothing?” Dougie blinks, tilts his head and shrugs very slightly, a hint of amusement in one corner of his mouth:

“P’raps you’d better recover. I know you were looking forward to this party, and there’s no need to miss the rest of it.”

In the doorway behind him, the server reappears with a glass of water on a tray, and Janey-E sits up in a way that she hopes conveys swift but not suspiciously sudden recovery. Dougie is already on his feet, accepting the tray with thanks and the discreet proffering of a tip.

“This was so embarrassing, but I’m feeling much better now,” Janey-E declares between sips of the water. “The crowd,” (she pauses) “The emotions, were just a bit overwhelming.” She hands the glass back with her most winning smile and lets Dougie help her to her feet.

* * *

Back in the party room, Juliet has approached Barb and Tom:

“We’re going to do the father/daughter dances in a moment, then open up the floor to the guests.” She exchanges a significant glance with her father: _You noticed him too. What does it all mean?_


	4. Chapter 4

As the recording of Crowded House’s “It’s Only Natural” reaches its final chorus, and the DJ delicately segues into the opening bars of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleepwalk,” the two brides each hold out a hand to their respective fathers, who walk with them to the middle of the small dance floor. All four look around, beaming, at each other and at their guests. Bushnell takes Kelly’s hand first, followed only a moment later by Tom placing his arm around Juliet. They move around each other with gliding steps, Bushnell with the unexpected lightness that won him the Golden Gloves some fifty years ago.

Juliet and her father, meanwhile, confer silently as they waltz:

 _—Kelly says he’s one of her dad’s employees. Helped uncover some fraud or or something a few years ago. I can’t imagine Dad-in-law’s_ _expecting any fraud at our wedding, so he must have invited the guy because he genuinely likes him._ Her brow furrows slightly as they side-step: _His mind feels...not evil, just strange. Do you know what planet he’s from?_

 _—He’s human,_ Tom replies in his thoughts. _Or_ — he smiles down at her suddenly: _Remember that year you and your friends were all exchanging dubbed cassette tapes?_

 _—He’s a copy of a human? Just one single human, I hope. A human mix-tape would be... come to think of it I’ve met people who might as well be mix-tapes, but I’m guessing that’s not what you mean._ Juliet throws a glance across the room. _Do you think his wife knows?_

_—I haven’t yet got close enough to read her. She faked a fainting spell when she saw me approach._

_—Well, **that’s** never suspicious._

_—I’m so sorry— if there’s one thing your mother and I wanted today it was for you and Kelly to have a perfect wedding._ All around them, the guests have begun to join them on the floor, slow-dancing to the drifting tune.

 _—And we have._ Juliet smiles up at her detective father. _This is just... additional mystery._

* * *

With her ear pressed against Dougie’s shoulder, Janey-E can feel his pulse beneath the music’s beat. She knows Barb is still watching them curiously, but the light in her husband’s eyes and his gentle, assured movements as the two of them sway amid the other dancing couples carry her thoughts to a safer place. Dougie is a separate and enigmatic being, but in this moment at least she feels nothing but love and trust.

* * *

“Tom!” Bushnell Mullins claps a hand on Tom’s arm as Kelly steps over to Juliet and takes her hand. “Tom, have you and Dougie been properly introduced yet?” He turns towards Dougie, intercepted in the middle of returning from the bar with two flutes of champagne. “Meet the best agent Lucky Seven has ever had.”

”Janey-E and I met Juliet’s family after the ceremony, but they had so many other guests to greet at the time, I fear we were analogous to the proverbial ships passing in the night.” Dougie transfers the second champagne flute to his left hand and holds it together with the first like a bunch of flowers, as he offers his right hand to Tom. He smiles, and his hazel eyes crinkle pleasantly at the corners. The man’s friendliness is perfectly genuine, Tom can sense that much; yet there’s something distant about it, as though Dougie’s personality is redirected from another source, or echoing from the far end of a long, long corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

“The DJ seems to be stretching out the repertoire of wedding classics,” Dougie muses, as the speakers strike up the distinctive opening synth riff of “Whip It.” Bushnell glances at the enthusiastic boogeying that surrounds the three of them:

“Gentlemen, I think I can safely say I’m too old for this one.”

“You and me both, Bush.” Tom may not be entirely or even mostly human, but he’s not so young as he was, he’s suffered more than a few work-related injuries over the years, and this style of music was never to his taste. “Anyway, I could do with some fresh air.”

A set of double doors leads from the party room onto a terrace. Bushnell walks out first and leans, arms folded, on the parapet. He gazes over the lights of the city:

“That used to be all neon and incandescents. Now I guess it’s LEDs. Uses less electricity, at least. The more things change, eh, boys?” Tom and Dougie nod at each other across Bushnell’s head, both slightly too tall to lean comfortably upon the parapet. The older man notices and smiles up at them: “I’m going back in where I can sit down, but don’t let me drag you away from your break.” He takes one of the champagne flutes Dougie’s still holding: “I’ll deliver this to Janey-E for you. See you inside.”

With Bushnell gone, the insurance agent steps back and rests his shoulder blades against the stucco wall behind him. Tom, after a moment, joins him. Dougie holds his remaining flute without drinking from it, and Tom wonders if he, too, dislikes alcohol but doesn’t feel like explaining.

“I don’t enjoy the taste,” says Dougie suddenly, “and the fizz hurts my tongue. But turning it down would lead our hosts to ask if there’s some other beverage they could offer that I’d prefer, and I don’t want to put them to the trouble when I can easily help myself to coffee later at the desserts table.”

Tom wonders for a moment if this is how it felt for the original Tom to have _his_ thoughts read, before noticing a further peculiarity— there are no other guests about to interrupt, but he feels multiple minds. Wondering suddenly if Juliet was right about human mix-tapes, Tom yields to the impulse to survey the other guest, and that’s when he finally understands.

Dougie is a copy, yes. He’s also an iteration. The detective can almost see the threads that stretch off, off into the distance, away from the Dougie Jones in front of him and each leading to a different version. There’s one who shares Dougie’s eager expression but holds a mug of coffee in place of the champagne he’s ignoring. Another possesses the set of Dougie’s shoulders, his finely-drawn features, but the eyes hold no warmth, only a bitter worry. Two threads trail away to the fading images of a Dougie whose good looks are half-submerged in middle-aged spread and a loud jacket, whose expression is a mix of satiety and shame; and one who has long, lank hair and eyes like cold black river stones. Tom feels like he’s falling into a hall of mirrors.

“Who _are_ you?”

“Dougie Jones,” says the figure in front of him, and he grins and holds out his hand as if they haven’t met twice already today. Tom shakes his head:

“Your name doesn’t tell me anything. If I may say so, you seem to contain multitudes.” 

Dougie tilts his head:

“Well, not to undersell Walt Whitman, but that’s true of just about any human individual. I’m sure you could say the same of yourself, Tom— did you hear that?” There is a commotion going on inside. Tom and Dougie exchange a glance and dash back into the party room.


	6. Chapter 6

Tom looks around, attempting to read the situation, but the party room is like a jigsaw puzzle in the middle stages of assembly. There’s a faint haze and a sickly-sweet smell in the air. Most of the guests are talking or shouting. Three women in pink cocktail dresses are dashing about. One of them picks up a floral centerpiece from a nearby table, and pushes past Tom and Dougie to carry it out to the terrace.

“Candie, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Dougie—” She turns and evidently recognizes him. Dougie helpfully takes the flowers off her hands, and she points urgently at the double doors. “I don’t know if it’s _all_ the flowers, but something went wrong with the centerpiece at the head table and Mr. Mullins collapsed and some men took him away, and Sandie and Mandie and I didn’t know what to do but then I thought we should get rid of the other arrangements too.” The other two pink-clad women run up clutching flowers; one of them is talking on a phone braced between her right ear and shoulder:

“Mister Rodney — It’s the flowers at Bushnell Mullins’ daughter’s wedding. I don’t know, smoke just started coming out.”

“ _Smoke_ , did you say, Mandie?” Dougie asks as he follows them out to the terrace.

Deciding Dougie is best-suited to question these particular witnesses, Tom hurries towards Barbara, Juliet, and Kelly, who are standing in a little knot on one side of the room. His new daughter-in-law appears distressed; Juliet has one arm around her, and with the other draws a phone from her hip pocket. Tom can’t help but reflect that Juliet’s decision to be married in a suit has been, in this moment, entirely justified.

“Jade,” his daughter says into the phone, “It’s Juliet Beck — yes. No, the wedding went great. This is important. What florist do you use? Kelly’s Dad told us, but he’s not here right now. No, no, they were delivered on time and they look gorgeous, one of the guests asked about them.” She covers the phone with her hand: “She’s checking for me, apparently they use more than one company. I thought I’d better not panic her by mentioning the smoke bomb.”

“Tom, somebody sabotaged one of the flower arrangements—” Barbara whispers.

“I heard. Where’s Bush? One of those pink ladies said he collapsed?”

“Those were _not_ real paramedics!” Kelly wails. “They got here too fast, and they wouldn’t let me go with him!”

“I know, hon. I told Sky to follow them and text us.”

”Are you saying Bushnell was abducted?” Tom asks. Before anyone can answer, Dougie’s spouse runs up to them teetering only slightly on her high heels:

“Where’s Dougie?”

“Helping remove the rest of the floral displays in case they also contained smoke bombs.” An idea strikes him: “Dougie works closely with Bushnell Mullins. He ever mention anything to you about the old man having any enemies?”

* * *

Outside, Dougie is hearing the details (in triplicate) of the floral smoke bomb, Bushnell’s collapse, and his suspiciously swift removal for “medical assistance.”

“Sounds like a targeted kidnapping. All the same, Candie, it was good thinking to take the other decorations outside for the safety of the guests. Did the Mitchum Brothers have any light to shed on the situation, Mandie?”

“Mister Bradley’s reviewing the security tapes right now, and Mister Rodney’s coming up here to offer moral support to the family.”

“Good, I’ll talk to the father of the bride— the other bride, I mean— he’s a retired LAPD detective.”

“Dougie—” Janey-E appears in the doorway: “You’re all right? You de-fused the other flowers?”

“They seem to be inert, Janey-E.” He squeezes his spouse’s hand as Sandie, Candie and Mandie exchange glances.

“Good.” Janey-E pulls him into a quick hug and Sandie stifles a delighted squeak. “Tom wants your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um apparently the plot thickens?


	7. Chapter 7

“Where’s the centerpiece that discharged the smoke?” Tom asks Dougie as he walks in to join him and the others. As Juliet points it out (she hadn’t let Candie touch it), a suited man arrives, wearing an expression that might be described as a scowl of concern:

“Ladies—” he says to Kelly and Juliet. “I just heard what happened, and I want to apologize for this unfortunate occurrence on your wedding day.” His New Jersey accent undercuts the corporate speech, but there’s no doubting his sincerity. “My brother is already reviewing security tapes in search of the perp, and rest assured, we’ll do everything in our power to get the old man back.” His gaze lights on Dougie Jones: “Dougie. You used to be with— uh, I mean, you’re a level-headed guy in an emergency. Any suggestions?”

“First off, Rodney, thanks for coming up so quickly; I know you and your brother have a lot of plates to keep spinning around here.” Placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder, Dougie continues: “This is Juliet’s father, Tom. He’s a former LAPD detective.” Tom sees Rodney raise an eyebrow at that. “I don’t need to tell you the fire marshal would want the guests evacuated from this section, at least, of the building. Make sure no one leaves the area, though. I expect Tom will want to question witnesses.”

“Yes, but not right away,” Tom says. “We were going to look at the flowers that discharged the smoke.” He’s noticed a change in the insurance agent’s manner— out of the many reflections of Dougie he glimpsed out on the terrace, the alert, assured one is currently uppermost. The man from the casino seems to respond to his new air of authority: with a gesture to his assistants, he begins corralling the guests and shooing them towards the hallway like a slightly terrifying shepherd assisted by three collies in pink satin cocktail dresses. Dougie cocks his head to one side:

“Oh, er, Rodney?” Rodney turns to him and Dougie drops his voice to a whisper: “Be diplomatic about it.” They give each other a thumbs-up, and Dougie follows Tom towards the floral smoke bomb as Mitchum barks directions at his staff to offer the guests some complimentary cocktails downstairs while all this gets sorted out.

* * *

“So that’s what sparked all the ruckus.” The device is hooked to the stem of an orchid by a pipe-cleaner twisted into a loop. Dougie brushes the pipe-cleaner with a forefinger. Then he gently pinches the stem and leaves of the flower, rubbing his thumb against them. “The greenery is slightly damp,” he remarks to Tom. “But the fuzz on this pipe-cleaner is bone-dry.”

“You think the smoke-bomb was attached by someone at the wedding, well after the flowers were placed,” Tom states as he checks the pipe-cleaner for himself.

“We can still check out the florist if the security tapes don’t pan out, but it seems to me we should start at this end of the chain.”

Their phones buzz almost simultaneously. Tom takes his out and reads a text from Juliet:

_Sky followed the ambulance to a house at 501 Clermont Ave._

_Do we call the police now?_

Dougie is looking at his phone:

“Janey-E says the Mitchum brothers are having some trouble keeping the peace downstairs. I suppose wedding-guests _are_ a little harder to placate than gamblers.”

“Maybe it was a mistake to advise the gentle approach. Good news is, Juliet’s best woman successfully tailed the ambulance.” Tom considers. “It doesn’t sound like there’s been any ransom demand yet.” He gives Dougie a long look: “I’m thinking Rodney Mitchum was right about you.” It’s a question, though it doesn’t sound like one.

“The Mitchums are, by necessity, good judges of character; and they themselves are quite handy in a crisis, though their methods aren’t always those favored by conventional law enforcement.”

”How is your local law enforcement when it comes to kidnapping and hostage situations?”

Dougie frowns a moment in thought:

”Not expert,” he admits. “Their daily fare leans more towards handling drunk or lost tourists.” 

Tom begins texting his daughter. To Dougie he says:

”Bushnell’s only been gone an hour. Technically he’s not yet a missing person.”

”We’ll take my car,” Dougie grins at him.


	8. Chapter 8

Dougie and Tom Beck have taken off together, which half-an-hour ago would have been worrying, but, Janey-E reflects, it’s been the kind of evening where all you can do is roll with the punches. She’s concluded that most of the blame here rests with whoever decided to ruin the brides’ big day; but Barbara is already doing what she can to console her daughter and daughter-in-law and probably doesn’t want any one else in the mix just now. Janey-E notices Rodney Mitchum striding about the room with an air of frustration and intercepts him:

“Mr. Mitchum.”

“Mrs. Jones.” Rodney spreads his hands in a gesture of aggrieved sympathy: “This is a terrible occurrence, just terrible. Your husband told me he’d received a tip-off as to where they took Mullins. I offered to go with him and the other gentleman, but Dougie insisted it was better I stay here and hold the fort; also Bradley is still reviewing the security tapes so we can identify the people who did this, and Dougie says he — they— will need that information.”

He glances in the direction of the wedding party:

“Between ourselves, Bradley and I would like to get our hands on those sons-of-bitches too, pardon my language. Kidnapping guests from our establishment is not something that ought to happen. Especially during a wedding, which ought to be a happy occasion.”

He pauses for breath. Janey-E, who has never smoked and used to tell off Diane for wrecking her lungs, suddenly wishes she had a cigarette to light dramatically. She settles for leaning on a nearby table as she replies:

“Believe you me, plenty of people here would like to take a shot at the kidnappers. Starting with the brides, I expect.”

The casino-owner nods:

“My brother and I grew up without benefit of parents; but if we _did_ have an old man, and somebody abducted him, we’d find out who did it and ice’em. And get him back alive, if possible.” His voice catches suddenly. “I’m not a patient person, Mrs. Jones. I understand why your husband wanted us to stay behind, but this is hard.”

“Dougie trusts you and Bradley to protect the rest of the wedding party,” says Janey-E. She says this because she couldn’t think of anything else, but it works. Rodney pulls his shoulders out of their slouch, sets his jaw and pats her on the arm.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, Mrs. Jones,” he says. “I’ve already put a couple of security guards at either end of the hall. Just in case, y’know.”

“Thanks, Rodney.” One possible fire put out—Janey-E has met the Mitchum brothers enough times to know that Rodney without an assignment is a danger to himself and others— but this leaves her once more at loose ends and almost as stir-crazy as he is. She glances across the room and, seeing Juliet Beck on the phone again, wanders into earshot.

“Hello Jade,” Juliet is saying, and Janey-E feels her insides clench though there’s no reason to suppose it’s the same Jade. She focuses on the half of the conversation she can hear: “Cerulean Arrangements — how d’you spell that? Never mind, I typed it in notes and autocorrect found it: C-E-R-U-L-E-A-N? Got it. One more thing— um... did anybody other than us or Kelly’s Dad ever contact you during the event planning?” She glances at her wife and puts a hand over the speaker. “How do I ask this without freaking her out?”

“Tell her you’ve an ex— no, tell her I’ve got some conservative relatives and imply they tried to cause trouble.” 

“It’s just that... Kelly’s got some homophobic relatives — they’re angry we didn’t invite them — they’d have been angrier if we had— anyway they tried to barge in— don’t worry— but we’re just trying to figure out if they gave you any trouble or tried to get the address from your staff? Ok, if you could check. That’s why I wanted to know the florist, to be honest. Yeah, trying to locate the source of the leak. Thanks again.” She taps the phone. “She’ll go over all the records and talk to everyone who worked on the wedding— yes Mom, the caterers too. I wonder if the casino staff have found anything yet?”

“I just spoke to one of the owners,” Janey-E leans in. “His brother’s looking into it. His brother’s the brains of the organization,” she whispers, “if you ask me. I’ve met them before— they’re... colorful characters.” She isn’t sure a law-enforcement family would _entirely_ approve of the Mitchums even if Dougie says they have hearts of gold— he’s still shockingly trusting in some respects. “But they’re quite protective of this place, and they’ll do everything they can to make this right.”

“Your husband went with my Dad to the address Sky texted us, didn’t he?” God, is everyone in the Beck family keeping an eye on Dougie? Juliet is eyeing Janey-E with an expression that’s hard to categorize.

“Yes.” _Don’t overdo the explanation, it’ll just lead to more questions_. This seems to work— Juliet nods.

“Good. I was a little worried Dad would go out there alone, and Sky’s smart but this is a little above her weight class.”


	9. Chapter 9

The night air is still warm, but desert-dry, and —small mercy— Tom and Dougie’s route soon takes them off the casino strip. Dougie’s a good driver and Tom turns his attention to observing the neighborhoods they pass through on their way to the address where, according to Juliet’s friend, Bushnell Mullins has been taken. The map on Tom’s phone and the view from the front passenger seat suggest that 501 Clermont Avenue’s a small house among identical houses in a small unglamorous suburb.

A car driving in the opposite lane honks and Tom’s just wondering why, when he sees the driver give them a thumbs-up. He remembers he’s wearing a tuxedo: between that, Dougie’s smart suit and the sporty car, they must look like old-school high-rollers on a spree; or on a honeymoon.

“Nice car, Dougie,” he says, as the latter returns the other driver’s thumb-up sign.

“Thanks.”

“You didn’t steal it, did you?” Dougie keeps his eyes on the street ahead, but in the mirror Tom sees one of his eyebrows go up:

“Gift from grateful clients.” A pause. Then: “You’re wondering about my past. Don’t have one. Well, I do, but I was in a car accident a dozen years back and can’t recall more than a few enigmatic images from before that. I function well enough day to day—” ( _More than enough_ , Tom thinks) “— but there’s a kind of wall in my memory.” Dougie’s voice is calm, if not cheerful, and his expression, in profile as the traffic lights flicker past, is hard to read. Dougie’s _mind_ is abruptly hard to read. He’s not lying about that wall.

”Even in dreams?”

”Don’t dream, either. When I go to sleep I just... switch off. My head touches the pillow and next thing I know Janey-E’s calling me down to breakfast.”

* * *

Sky texts Tom’s phone just before they reach the address:

_Hi I’m at Clermont and Woodbank by the Rancho Rosa billboard_

_Hi we’re almost there_

_Juliet said you were on your way with backup_

_but not *official* backup_

_be ready to call 911 if needed_

_but I thought it’d be faster to come myself than explain the situation to the local force_

_one of Mullins colleagues is here too_

“There she is.”

Sky’s a short woman in glasses; her wedding-guest attire is a peach-coloured cocktail dress that hasn’t been the fashion since since the year Tom came to Earth (Tom remembers her and Juliet haunting thrift-stores as teens) but for all he knows it’s due for a comeback; her hair is done up for the occasion in clips and a mass of teased curls that glow beneath the street lights in a fuzzy halo. In most places she’d cut an incongruous figure lurking next to the real-estate sign, but there’s a weirdness to this dark, half-abandoned suburb that seems to allow for anything.

Dougie pulls up to the billboard and Tom waves Sky over, leans back to open the rear door of the car.

“Hi, Mr. Beck,” she says, as though it’s still the 1990s and she’s Juliet’s classmate. She points to one of the few houses on the block with the lights on Tom can see the dark shape of the ambulance in the driveway. “They’re in there. The curtains are drawn, and I couldn’t see inside, but I left my car around the corner in case they look out.”

“Good job. Dougie, this is Sky, by the way— long-time friend of our family.”

“Hello Sky. Thanks for scouting out the terrain for us.” Dougie’s voice is slightly hoarse, his tone distracted. He’d been gazing at the Rancho Rosa billboard with knitted brows, and his face has a noticeably pinker tinge when he pulls himself away and turns to greet Sky. Puzzled, Tom extends a feeler to the insurance agent’s mind. _Oh. Hm. Wonder what **that’s** about._ A moment only, and Dougie resumes his crisp demeanor:

“Sky— How many of them are there?”

“Three, with the guy who was driving. And Kelly’s dad, obviously, so four total. I guess they counted on nobody seeing, or at least nobody wondering why they’d be carrying a guy on a stretcher _into_ a house.” She glances up and down the silent street. “This does seem like a no-questions-asked kind of neighborhood. So what now? Either of you.... armed?” Both men shake their head.

”Of course not,” says Tom. “Who takes a gun to a wedding?”

”Just asking. But knocking on the door seems like a stretch without one. Though I guess they’d have us outnumbered anyways— I mean I don’t have anything but a safety pin in case of wardrobe malfunction— ooh, wait, I do have a mini-bottle of hairspray in my purse. Do you think it’d work as mace?”

Sky has always talked like this. She’s smarter than most humans, she just does all her thinking out loud.

”Keep it in reserve for now,” Dougie suggests. Sky glances up at Tom, who gives a nod of agreement. “I’m going to slowly cruise past the house,” Dougie continues. “Let’s get a feel for how the place is laid out.”

Tom reaches out with his mind as they slowly pass the stucco building. He counts five humans inside — there must have been someone waiting for the kidnappers and Bushnell. The latter is alive, awake, though dazed: Tom can just make out his confusion and anger at the situation. The thoughts of all the others are nervous but businesslike, crooks for hire. None of them are the mind that organized this. He wonders if that will make the next step, whatever it is, easier or harder.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite, or maybe because of the numbers of complimentary cocktails, murmurs are starting to break out among the wedding-guests, overlapping somewhat with a number of helpful individuals approaching the brides to show them videos they captured on their phones of the smoke bomb and the “EMTs” hasty arrival and departure. Juliet puts her arm around Kelly, and Barb asks everyone to forward their videos so they can go over them later. She’s almost succeeded in calming down a guest named Toby (Janey-E isn’t sure if he’s from the Beck or the Mullins side of things), who keeps asking why the fire department hasn’t shown up yet, when:

“Juliet, Kelly? I thought I’d better come by in person.”

Jade’s in an enviably cute blazer and cropped pants with kitten heels, but though the wardrobe may be more sophisticated, and however much Janey-E might have forgiven Dougie’s past indiscretions, she’ll never forget the woman from the photo those gangsters sent last year. Her stomach clenches again, but she tells herself this isn’t the time or the place to fly off the handle. After all, she doesn’t know for sure that Jade was a willing accomplice to blackmail. Her presence here and now, though, now _that_ seems like more than coincidence. She smiles levelly at the wedding planner, searching her face for any sign of recognition.

Juliet and Kelly, for their part, are having trouble meeting Jade’s eyes. It’s Kelly, finally, who steps forward:

“Jade— we downplayed the situation because we didn’t want to worry you, but it’s actually more serious than we told you over the phone. Someone planted a device in one of the flower arrangements—”

“ _After_ it was delivered here, we think—” Juliet interjects. “It sprayed my father with... we’re not yet sure what, and he was then abducted by men claiming to be EMTs.”

“My father and some other guests are following them as we speak.”

Jade’s long eyelashes have flown up at this tale, and she claps a hand to her mouth as Juliet shows her her phone.

* * *

The air is cooler in this outlying neighborhood, approaching dew point for the dry climate. Dougie tilts his face to the slight breeze and closes his eyes, his expression serene.

“Crickets,” he declares, “if I’m not mistaken. Like jingling bells.”

Sky glances at Tom, who whispers:

“He’s got his own way of considering a situation. Give him a moment.”

Opening his eyes, the insurance agent turns the key in the ignition and takes the car slowly down the street towards 501 Clermont Avenue. Like all the other houses in the neighborhood, it’s two stories, stuccoed, with an attached garage; a comfortable middle-class home, had the development not fallen through while only three-quarters built. A few lights are visible through the blinds on the ground floor windows.

”Not an easy building to clear,” murmurs Tom, “unless they’re fool enough to all be together in the same room.” His phone vibrates in his jacket and he takes it out, nodding to Dougie who continues driving past the house and turns to circle the next block. “Barb? What? Well put her on.” Instinctively he puts his hand over where the mouthpiece would be on an older phone, and looks around to explain: “There’s been developments. The wedding planner think she knows who’s behind all this.”


End file.
